Seven Versts
by ReadingBlueWolf
Summary: There was an old Russian saying: "For a mad dog, seven versts is not a long detour." Simply put, this little trek through the wilderness would not deter her from bringing wrath upon Stark. Natasha x Clint
1. Child's Play

When she got back, she was going to kill Stark.

There was _no_ other way about it.

One minute she had been on a mission for Fury, the next, she was here, trudging along, lost in the woods.

Where Stark had taken her to, she hadn't the slightest idea. Her companions for the last thirty-six hours had been trees, moss, dying grass, and whatever critters this region held. Apart from a few bird chirps, and squeals from the creatures held here, everything had been silent. She had a suspicion of where Stark might have left her, but she kept her opinions to herself, knowing she could be completely wrong.

With a sigh, she continued trudging through the hushed trees. The crunch of grass resounded around her. The sun-kissed the earth as it slowly slipped into oblivion for rest. While some may have decided to stop for the night, Natasha didn't. She was not about to halt her search for a town.

Stark had stripped her of all communication from the outside world. He left her with her pistols, and whatever was on her belt—which luckily included a flashlight. When she got back to civilization…

There was an old Russian saying: "_For a mad dog, seven versts is not a long detour._" Simply put, this little trek through the wilderness would not deter her from bringing wrath upon Stark.

As she pressed on further, she noticed an odd patch in a tree ahead. Despite the dying light, she could see it was a piece of paper. Once she approached the tree, she tore it off. On the lined page, it appeared as if a three-year-old had drawn trees with an awkward looking tall and lanky man standing in the middle.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha crumpled up the paper, and tossed it over her shoulder. Who in their right mind would staple a child's picture to a tree? The only good thing about the drawing was it meant civilization must be close.

With this thought in mind, she took out the flashlight. A loud snap broke the silence momentarily, and light burst through the trees ahead. As the beam scanned the area, Natasha realized it was going to be a long night. She had walked through one already; she wasn't keen on going through another.

Her mind eventually drowned out the sound of grass crunching beneath her feet from repetition. Her thoughts strayed toward home.

She wondered if Clint was thinking about her. A small smile hinted on her lips as she thought about him. Clinton Barton, also known as Hawkeye. The World's Greatest Marksman. He earned it from his constant observation, and skill with a bow and arrow. His shot was always dead on; he never missed. No one could ever come close to his aim. It gave this once solo assassin comfort to know he was her partner. She wished he was here now.

Was he back from his short leave of absence? He journeyed to his roots once a year, to pay respects to his deceased parents. She admired that about him. He never forgot his roots, or his parents.

She was supposed to be back before he had returned. She had left him a message stating as much. Was he wondering where she was? If anyone noticed her absence, it was bound to be him.

A few hours after the sun had said goodnight, Natasha stumbled across a rusted, blue truck. This looked promising. Could this be a ride? Could it get her out of the woods? Could she start the vehicle?

Walking to it, she shined her light in the window. It looked as if it hadn't seen human contact in years. Her fingers clasped the handle and she gave a tug. With an ear-splitting shriek, the door opened. Dust fluttered out, attacking her in a manner similar to bees.

Waving the air, she coughed, and waited for the dust to settle once again. When it no longer suffocated the atmosphere, she climbed into the truck. Searching for keys, she wasn't surprised to find they were nowhere around.

Reaching under the steering wheel, she fidgeted around. Her fingers finally grasped the wires she sought. After a few seconds—and a spark or two—she heard the engine click, roll over… and die. Attempting again, gained her the same result. Climbing out of the seat, she made her way towards the engine. Flipping up the hood, she took a few moments to look over what lie underneath.

Much to her dismay, the truck had sat for much longer than she assumed. The battery was corroded. Much of the engine was rusted and falling to pieces. Letting the hood drop with a shrieking slam, she glanced at the vehicle once more. The engine might not work, but perhaps there were supplies floating about.

As she slowly scanned the truck for helpful items, she noticed something white on the passenger's side, just to the left of the door. It was a piece of paper. With an audible sigh, she shined her light on this next child's masterpiece.

This time there was a tree crudely sketched and darkened letters in all caps reading:

_**LEAVE ME **__**ALONE**_

"Well, that's pleasant," she quipped softly. With a roll of her eyes, she turned from the picture. This was getting a bit ridiculous. Her flashlight shined through the surrounding trees. Where was this town? People didn't travel hundreds of miles just to let their children stick stupid notes on objects.

Suddenly, a snap echoed in the encompassing trees.

Her flashlight flicked.

Left.

Right.

Her eyes quickly scanned the area.

"Hello?" she questioned as she continued her examination.

No one responded.

Perhaps there was a predator nearby. With another sigh, she clicked her flashlight off, then placed it in a holster on her belt. No reason to give away her position if some beast was hunting her. Besides, the moon was bright enough to see her surroundings.

With the crunching of grass once again lost in her ears, she thought back to how she got here.

Director Nick Fury had sent her on a reconnaissance mission to Anthony Stark's house. She had known when she received the assignment it wouldn't be easy. She even voiced her opinion to Fury about it. Stark didn't like her, _especially_ after his near death experience a few years back. He didn't trust her. That came with the territory though— her being a spy and all. Fury had dismissed her objections.

Against her better judgment, she followed the director's mission and searched Stark's house.

Well, when Stark returned home in the evening, he was angry—to say the least. He hadn't taken well to her looking through his personal belongings… _And_ decommissioning his security system known as Jarvis. They argued about it. At one point, something had hit her over the head, and the next thing she knew she was waking up here—wherever here was.

Despite the fact it might have failed, Fury owed her huge for this assignment. And when she said huge, she meant a month's vacation time, all expenses paid, with a whole new wardrobe of weapons. There had been a few gadgets in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s arsenal that she had been admiring and testing. They weren't clunky or bulky—she liked slick and smooth. It made fighting easier. Speaking of weapons, she glanced to her pistols making a mental note to get them updated soon; they were last year's model, and worn down from use. Natasha shook her head. Fury owed her big time.

In a matter of moments, she withdrew from her memory. Pausing, she looked at the odd sight before her. There seemed to be several boulders randomly placed in the midst of the woods. An eye brow rose.

"What in the world…?" Her sentence trailed off as she approached them.

Why were there boulders in the middle of the woods? It seemed so out of place, so confusing. Her head tilted to the left as she reached out and ran her fingers over the rough surface of the first boulder she reached. It was real.

As she skirted the perimeter of the rock formation, she came across another note. Drawing her flashlight, she clicked it on, being instantly blinded. Shaking her head, she squinted, allowing her eyes to adjust to the new light. Blinking a few times, she focused on this newest pin-up.

The picture on this one was a circle with two lines that looked more like antennas, than what she supposed were eyebrows. The writing on this one was also in dark capitals, stating:

_**ALWAYS WATCHES **__**NO EYES**_

"How the Hell does something watch with no eyes?"

With a second look at the picture between the "watches" and "no", she realized the antennas were actually two X's stationed on either side of what was possibly a head. What kind of game were these kids playing?

"That's supposed to be a head?" She groaned outwardly.

_SNAP!_

Natasha spun.

Her glanced skimmed through the trees.

She flicked the light off.

Darkness enveloped her.

Seconds passed.

One.

Silence.

Two.

Heart beat.

Three.

It was then she realized how quiet the woods were.

Unlike the previous night, no critters moved in the woods.

She wasn't noisy enough to scare them off.

After a few moments more, she took a deep breath. She was an assassin. She had guns. She was fearless. With her head held high, she turned and continued on her way, determined to find civilization. When she gained access to the states again, she would have a "talk" with Stark. He was not going to get away with this.

And whoever put the stupid notes in the middle of nowhere was a fool. Did they think they were going to scare the Black Widow?

* * *

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	2. Exposure

It had been in the hour before dawn that she stumbled upon water. In the quiet, she watched the stream as it presented her with a sense of peace. A few critters drank from its life. A deer gracefully stepped to the water and bent down. She was glad the animals had returned.

After watching for a few minutes longer, Natasha approached the stream and bent down. Cupping her hands, she dipped them in the cool water, relishing in its feeling. She then pulled her hands to her mouth. As the water flooded her mouth, and rushed down her throat, she felt invigorated again. After a few more long drinks, her hands moved to her belt. She remembered placing it on there at some point.

With a smile, she pulled out a scrunched water skin and unfolded it. Uncapping the top, she plunged it into the water. She watched as the skin stretched, and allowed the water to expand every surface. It reminded her of how she felt with Clint.

She wouldn't classify her feelings towards him as love—that was a child's game. She did, however, admire and respect him. He had pushed her to places she never thought she would go, and stretched her mentality in far greater ways she ever imagined.

There were things Natasha had done or been taught in life, because of Clint. One of the most important lessons he taught her was mercy. On one particular assignment she had been sent to kill a brutal man, who had been torturing and killing many in the recesses of Africa. In her hunt, she came upon the family of the murderer. Normally, she would have killed them. No survivors.

With her new take on mercy, however, she realized these people were just as trapped as the ones being senselessly murdered. Things were not as cut and dry as she had believed. Often times, family members were the victims as well.

Capping the pouch, she rose to her feet. Thinking about Clint here wasn't going to help her situation. After securing the skin on her belt, she began her trek again.

As the nothingness above her gave way to the sun waking up, she relaxed. It was only then she realized how tense she had been. The notes had set her on edge without her even realizing it. Her fingers ran over her belt again. Two guns, the flashlight, the water skin, a few other odds and end… She was going to be okay.

As the day continued, she felt a creeping fear, like a fog gently rolling in, that something was watching her. Several times she shook her head, knowing she was letting the notes get to her. However, the distance she had put between the last note, and where she stood now, gave her note doubt the entire incident was behind her.

Around mid-day she came to a chain link fence. Shaking it, she heard a loud rattle from several feet away. A metal sign was attached, but just barely. Walking to it she read: "Внимание!"

"Warning?" questioned Natasha. Her heart sank. She knew exactly where she was—sadly, she had been right. After the initial shock past, anger filled her. How dare Stark stick her in Russia? And so close to the Chernobyl site! Was he trying to kill her?

She stiffened and paled.

The stream.

What way was the stream going?

Where did it originate from?

Her mind raced in a blur as she tried to figure out if the stream originated from the direction of this place.

_Think._

_Think._

_Think._

After a few heart-stopping moments, she sighed. The stream had been running a different way, and animals not affected by radiation had been drinking from it. She relaxed. Her head pressed against the rusted, cold metal of the warning sign. She calmed herself.

Natasha became alert to a soft noise like something being drug across dirt coming from the other side of the fence.

After a moment, it stopped.

Drag.

Nothing.

Silence.

Natasha backed up into the shadow of the trees. Peeking from behind one, she watched. She waited.

_Drag._

Nothing.

Silence.

It sounded close now. Where was it?

_Drag._

Nothing.

Silence.

_Drag._

A shadow.

In the trees.

Just beyond the fence.

_Drag._

The light hit it.

Natasha bit down on her tongue.

It was a person. Its glazed eyes shined with milky circles, like cataracts. Its sickly yellow-grey skin was covered in blood and bruises. Its left ankle was broken. At one time, it appeared to have been a woman. Her hair—or what was left—dropped like strings from her head.

By all accounts, this was a zombie if Natasha had ever seen one. The putrid smell of death reached her nostrils. She almost vomited.

Zombies did not exist. Natasha knew they were not real. This woman was simply in the final stages of radiation poisoning.

Mercy.

That's what Clint had taught her.

Her hand moved toward the gun on her right hip as the poor woman's grimy fingers wrapped around the old chain link fence. She drew out her gun and aimed.

From the shadows the dying girl couldn't see Natasha, but the assassin had a perfect shot of her.

Saying a silent prayer toward whatever entity would receive the woman, she drew back the hammer with a soft click. Her forefinger gently caressed the trigger. She hoped this would relieve the pain this woman was in. As her finger gently pressed against trigger, Natasha froze.

A howl.

A deep guttural howl.

Not of this world.

It came from that girl.

She emitted the wail.

It wasn't any howl.

She was calling.

There were more?

Another wail broke in the distance.

Then another.

Natasha put the safety on her gun.

She fumbled to place it back in her hostler.

Natasha turned.

She sprinted away, praying they couldn't get past the fence.

There.

Were.

More.

Despite hiding in the shadows, she had a sickening feeling the woman—creature—could see her.

_Crunch._

_Crunch._

_Crunch._

The grass betrayed her position.

Away from the fence she flew.

The further away, the better.

Right?

_Crunch._

_Crunch._

_Crunch._

Another howl emanated from behind her.

Stark was going to die for what she was living through.

She wasn't sure how long she had ran, but when she finally stopped, she felt as if her lungs were going to burst from her chest.

She coughed.

Rubbing her eyes, she looked around.

The sun was beginning its decent over the horizon into slumber once more. Another night alone. She wasn't sure she wanted to be alone.

Her thoughts traced their way to Clint.

Was Clint worried?

Was he looking for her?

She couldn't afford to think about him. Not at a time like this. She couldn't help it though.

Had Clint forced Fury to find her?

They had to understand she was missing. Right?

She started walking again, forcing her legs to keep going, trying to stop the crunch of grass beneath her feet. She was tired. With the threat of earlier, it was impossible to stop now. What if those… those things had made it past the fence? She couldn't stop walking now. She had to keep moving.

Her attention perked up when she saw a large structure in front of her. It was circular and the color of rust. What was its purpose? It reminded her of a silo. As she approached it, she circled partway around, studying at it.

Her breath froze as she saw another white page.

Approaching it, her eyes took in the latest drawing.

Across the bottom was pencil markings mimicking grass. A tree was drawn on the left side of the page. The awkwardly tall man with long arms was directly in the center.

A pit formed in her stomach as she looked at the vertical word attached to this one.

**FOLLOWS.**


	3. Strands of Web

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* * *

_Two pistols pointed at him. She drew back the hammer on both with a satisfied click._

"_Do you honestly think an arrow will hit me before you're dead?"_

"_Want to find out?"_

_The right side of her lip quirked. "What's your name, Robin Hood?"_

"_Robin Hood."_

_An eyebrow rose. "What's your real name?"_

"_Ro-bin. H-ood."_

"_That's a quick way to get a bullet through the skull."_

"_With all this talking, you would have never heard the arrow coming."_

"_Have you been sent here by Fury?"_

"_Have you?"_

_She contemplated pulling the trigger. His strong jaw line, smirking lips, and blue-green eyes argued against this notion. "If I put down my guns, will you put down your bow?"_

"_You first."_

_Natasha clicked the safety of both guns and holstered them. She watched as the archer put the arrow back in his quiver. His right arm—well muscled—held the bow at his side._

"_Name's Clint. Fury sent me to meet with the Black Widow. I take it that's you."_

"_If you knew it was me, why did you attack?"_

"_Your guns were up first."_

A puff of misty breath hovered in the air momentarily.

Natasha hugged herself as she withdrew from her reverie.

She shivered from the temperature dip.

It hadn't been cold last night. It was probably just her mind. Just like the fact the notes followed her. All in her mind.

If Clint were here, everything would be better. She would have a second pair of eyes. She wouldn't be cold. She would feel safe. Her chest constricted. She hated relying on people.

Natasha looked up as the waning moon neared the middle of the sky. The damn thing grinned down at her, as if amused by her predicament. It also taunted her with the fact half the night still remained. _Smug ass._

The note from earlier crossed her mind.

_**Follows**?_

With that word stuck in her head, Natasha couldn't help but glance back from time to time. With lack of sleep and food, her mind began seeing things. On several occasions, she thought there was a figure following her. It was all nonsense, however, created by the note.

Her stomach rumbled softly. She needed food. Couldn't Stark have left her a granola bar or two? Those bars with the fruit and chocolate, preferably strawberry; strawberries and chocolate. She sighed. That would have been good.

Clint would have given it to her. He knew that combination was her favorite. Whenever he pissed her off, she knew chocolate covered strawberries were coming as an apology. At times, she wondered if he intentionally irked her just to provide her with a gift.

Her eyes caught tree trunks that loomed in front of her. They were of all sizes. Some were tall while some were merely stumps, which held no leaves or branches. Who would only take leaves and branches? Who had cut them down?

Did that really matter?

She walked through them. Pausing at one, her fingers ran over the jagged cut. She was surprised, but pleased by the fresh feeling. They had been recently cut. That proved people came through here. Her eyes scavenged the area for tools, food, or tire marks.

Natasha moved through the trees, picking her way in a zigzag pattern. The ground, however, wasn't disturbed in any way. How could someone have cut these down and not leave some sort of a trail? She glanced up to see that she was near the edge of the chopped trees. She heaved a sigh. Something on the very edge of the line caught her eye: a white patch on a trunk.

Her heart stopped.

Not another…

She approached.

Two words filled the page.

**HELP ME**

Natasha glanced back.

Who put these out here and why? The nameless people who cut down the trees? But _why_? And why so far from the last note? A thought then struck. Why hadn't she thought of it before?

This was just a game Stark created. He had placed these notes in some simulation that she had to finish. He had hired some woman to dress up like that—or perhaps invented a robot. The zombie calls were his doing—he was technologically savvy after all. Nothing in this world could hurt her. She should have known he would be an asshole like that.

Now that she thought about it, the sign didn't mean she was near Chernobyl. In fact, if she _had_ been near Chernobyl, that didn't necessarily mean she was going to die. The thought of cancer, however, was not something that gave her warm feelings inside.

With a sigh, she straightened up. No need to be creeping around when this was a joke—just some game. Stark was definitely going to be six feet under when she finished this simulation. If Clint knew of this, however, he would kill Stark before she got the chance.

With her head held high, she continued on her merry little way. Glancing around, she began looking for cameras that would give Stark away. Something had to be watching her. The prick was probably getting a good laugh at the running she'd been doing.

Was Fury in on this? If he was, she would be furious. What kind of sick joke was this? If anything, it allowed her to test her skills, but still, it was… She was angry.

A dark object appeared in the distance. As it came into view, she saw it was a crumbling brick wall. At one time, it had most likely been a house, but now, all that was left was the sad, mostly-crumbled ruin. On the wall, she was not surprised to find another note.

This one had a sketch of the tall man with long arms taking up most of the page. Along the sides of the page read:

_**NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!**_

Stark had sure gone to great lengths to fool her. He must really have nothing better to do if he created this world before her. Trees, zombies, notes, animals—well, he was a billionaire…

She wondered how long he was going to keep this up. She wanted to get back to the real world, have a hot meal, and sit with Clint. She sighed.

"Alright, Stark," she called out. "You got me."

She heard a branch snap in the distance.

"Ha, ha, asshole. I get it. I'm sorry for breaking Jarvis. Can you stop this now?"

Silence.

"Stark, this isn't funny anymore. End this."

Natasha stiffened as ice spread through her veins. The cold grip of fear seized her heart. The hair on the back of her neck rose.

She felt it.

Something was watching her.

She turned.

Her eyes swept the trees.

In the distance…a shadow?

Her heart pounded in her ears.

Stark wouldn't pull this prank that long. Would he?

By the tree…something tall. A person? Zombie?

She didn't wait to find out.

_Crunch. _

_Crunch. _

_Crunch._

She bolted in the opposite direction.

_Crunch._

'_No.'_

_Crunch._

'_No!'_

_Crunch._

'_NO!'_


	4. Spider's Lullaby

Natasha rushed to get away from the open space. The shadows of the tree line reached out like dark hands, pulling—lulling—her into safety. Icy hands brushed across her skin, leaving goose bumps in their wake. No matter how far she ran, the feeling didn't fade. This was something she'd never felt before. Fear had never controlled her.

The moon seemed to slow above her, the damn thing extending the darkness. The night seemed to cave in around her. Its fingers slowly wrapped around, choking the last bit of sanity from her mind.

She stumbled.

Attempting to control her screaming muscles, she caught herself and continued on. She couldn't stop running.

With heaving breaths, she pressed forward; lead slowly filled her exhausted muscles. She could not let it end this way.

Again she stumbled; a rocky hand grasped her foot.

Hands and knees braced her fall. The tips of the grass kissed her forehead as she sucked in the thick night air. Her mind pleaded for her to get up. She had to get up.

_The large man pinned her to the wall. Her guns lay across the room, leaving her helpless. She struggled to move her arms or legs. He, however, made sure she wasn't going anywhere._

"_You don't want to do this." Her eyes darted left and right, looking for anything that could help her._

"_Who's going to stop me?" he purred. She coughed from the whiff of stale cigarette breath._

"_You think I'm frightened of _this_? Of _you_?" she scoffed. "You wouldn't be so lucky."_

"_Am I lucky now?"_

_Cold steel pressed against her throat. Suddenly, she felt mortal. The knife could slice through her throat like a spoon to Jell-O. Keeping her emotions in check, her eyes narrowed on him. "You think killing me is going to save you? Do you think it will keep your operation here in tact? Your days of smuggling weapons are over, whether you slice my throat or not."_

"_Then why wait? I'd like to see more red on you than just that pretty mop atop your head." She felt the sharp edge dig into her neck. The knife stopped as the man stiffened. She watched as he slumped to the floor. Her hands reached for her throat as warm blood greeting them._

_Her eyes glanced up to the door. She saw blue-green eyes and a smirking smile. He held a bow in one hand and two pistols in the other._

"_What took so long?" Her hands dropped to her side as she approached and plucked the pistols from his grip._

"_Waiting for you to take care of the situation like you said you would."_

_She looked away as she holstered the guns; first left, then right snapped into their respective places. "I can't believe I have to babysit. Fury's going to be the death of me."_

_In the next instant, his hand was on her throat. She tensed and grabbed his forearm._

"_Easy, Widow, I'm just checking the cut."_

_He took a step closer—the string of his bow sliding down his well-built arm—as his other hand, gently tilted her chin up. She was close enough to feel the warmth of his body in the cold room._

"_And you don't have to babysit me." His blue-green eyes locked on hers. "I'll always have your back."_

"Clint…" she whispered, before pulling herself together again. She stood. Her hands brushed off her limbs. Dead grass fluttered to the ground. Now was not a time to lose it.

She moved forward, using the night and shadows to cover her. They were her only allies at this moment, keeping her hidden from view. They were also her greatest adversary, hiding sinister things in their depths.

Things like faux figures following her.

She shot a glance over her shoulder.

She was alone.

The forest remained unnaturally silent. Natasha didn't know which evil was better: those unearthly calls, or the silence that magnified her every step.

Hoping to leave behind the silence and echoing footsteps in her ears, she focused on the notes. She had come across six. They all warned her of some danger, but she didn't know exactly what. A few had depicted a tall, faceless man in a suit, who seemed to be found in the woods. Her breath caught in her throat. It couldn't be, could it?

When she was a child, she had been warned of one called 'the corrector'. It would hunt for those who existed through strange means, like those born without a father. She had been warned if she went into the forest, she would be caught by 'the corrector'.

She had quickly outgrown any fear she felt towards this unnatural being, for in her world, fear meant death. As far as she was concerned, it didn't exist. Sure, there were rumors of children being stolen in the middle of the night, but she related those to faux tales, attempting to keep dread in the hearts of every child, much like the Rusulka, Lushy, or Likho.

While growing up, the rumors of other myths grew scarce, few and far between. The tales of 'the corrector', however, burned as brightly as a well-fueled furnace. Instead of only children being taken, anyone at random was fair game. By the time people completely shut themselves in at night, though, Natasha was long gone.

During a stake out one time, she had discussed 'the corrector' fable with Clint. He had chuckled, and replied that he had heard the creature called by many names. He thought there was a bit of truth to the story. Natasha, on the other hand, believed it to be ghost stories told over a fire, and still didn't give it much weight.

"_Really, 'Tash? Even with these recent stories about 'the corrector,' you still think it's a complete lie?"_

"_It's prominent for scaring children from the forests. I wouldn't exactly be afraid of it."_

"_But there's a reason people have been frightened all these years."_

_She shrugged. "But those people haven't seen how truly terrifying real life can be."_

_Clint was quiet for a few minutes, his fingers running over the smooth, ebony body of the bow. "So you don't believe in myths?"_

"_What kind of myths?"_

"_Ones from where you're from like Baba Yaga."_

_She graced him with a rare smile. "Please. If anything, I'm Baba Yaga."_

"_Oh, right. I saw the bones of all those dead children in your room."_

"_And they were, in fact, tasty."_

_He settled back against the wall. "What about a domovoi?"_

_She laughed once humorlessly. "If we had one, it was more of a poltergeist due to how the household was run."_

"_That bad, huh?"_

"_I wasn't around much after I was recruited as a spy. That's not the point though. The point _is_ there's nothing too scary out there for me."_

Despite her adamant stand on the creature not being real, Clint had never seemed to fully agree. He believed that there was a possibility these myths had some truth to them.

Deep in the silent woods, far from civilization, she was starting to believe he was right.

_~SV~_

A half hour later, she came upon rusted oil tanks. There were ten in total, and they all stood near one another, long forgotten and probably no longer functional. She allowed a moment to wonder how they came to be fated here.

Natasha slowly walked between them; her hand reached for the gun snuggled against her right thigh. The crunch of the grass had long grown numb in her ears, leaving the silence to dominate. Something about the stillness and the oil tanks set every last hair on edge.

She expected to see a note, but the only thing that greeted her was the still air and corrosion. Tension seemed to slow her movements, making her feel as if she was stuck in molasses. She looked up to see a building in the distance. Her spirits rose. Perhaps civilization was found there.

As she passed the last tank, something caught her eye. Her heart stopped mid-beat as her breath slowly escaped her lungs. Gradually she turned, praying it was nothing more than her imagination.

But there it was, gleaming like a porcelain tub, taunting her.

An 'X' was drawn in the bottom left corner. Two chilling words filled the page:

**CAN'T RUN**

A circle was drawn under the 'n' on **'RUN'**. She assumed the circle was the moon. It would make sense seeing as how most of these had been found at night.

She glanced up to it, still grinning like the damn Cheshire cat, although it was now pushing her into the darkest part of the night. If she could make it till dawn, she would feel much better. For once in her life, the light would be welcomed more than the shadows that covered her.

Her eyes moved back to the building. She had to make it over there. It had to be safer than being out in the opening.

Her vision blurred momentarily, and she rubbed her eyes. That was to be expected. It had been a few nights since she last slept. Perhaps if she hid in the building, she could rest until dawn.

Her eyes flicked towards where she had come from.

Ice crept into her veins. A tall shadow sat partly hidden by a rusted tank. Her arms froze in place as her vision blurred again.

_Can't run. _Those words echoed through her thoughts. Shaking her head, she forced herself toward the bathroom. She would run. She would escape. She'd show that note.

She sprinted towards the building, one foot after another hit the ground.

With a glance behind, she saw the shadow had moved closer.

Reaching the building, she was devastated to find it run down. As with everything she had come across, it was neglected and falling apart. Why were there notes that appeared recent and yet these places hadn't seen human life in years?

Despite crushed hopes, she prayed she could hide inside. That was her only option at the moment.

She glanced back; the figure was at the edge of the tanks now.

Looking inside the building, she saw dirty tiles, which she guessed had been white at one time. Hallways snaked to the left and right. It wasn't a building. It was some sort of large bathroom. Had this been a campsite at one time?

Whatever it had been, it was abandoned now, just like everything else.

Looking back, the shadow was gone.

She knew this might be her only shot to hide.

Without another thought, she plunged into the dark building.

The narrow halls were lined, floor to ceiling, with broken tiles.

She squinted, hoping to see ahead of her in the gloom.

Left.

Right.

Right.

She came to a dead end.

Her heart hammered against her chest.

_No escape._ She thought.

Her stomach felt ripped from her body.

Before her, faintly lit, was another white demon.

She reached for her flashlight.

It slid from her belt.

_SNAP!_

White flooded the room, like a dying, heavenly light.

She squinted, as her eyes adjusted to brightness.

Her heart stopped.

**DON'T ****LOOK…**

**OR IT TAKES ****YOU**

She took a step back.

This wasn't happening.

This was a nightmare.

This couldn't be real.

Clint would show up at any minute and save her.

A poem he had told her long ago came to mind.

'_Hush, thy childe, do not stray far from the path,_

_Or The Faceless One shall steal you away to Fairieland._

_He prays on sinful and defiant souls,_

_And lurks within the woods._

_He has hands of ebony branches,_

_And a touch as soft as silk._

_Fear the Faceless One, thy childe,_

_For he shall take you to a dark place._

_And what shall become of thou?_

_No one knows, so be good, thy little one—_

_Alas! He is here to take though away!"_

She turned.

A shadow stood in the door.

It caught up with her.

Her eyes took it in.

A suit.

No face.

Her vision blurred.

The scream never left her lips.

* * *

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	5. Illusions

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_Her head pounded as if stuck in a vice and blood struggled to flow through her body._

_Eyes fluttered, opening to a blurry world. Bright light flooded her pupils. She squinted._

"_You okay, 'Tash? You sure took a beating?"_

_She rubbed her face. Her eyes adjusted. A pair of blue-green eyes looked into hers. They were steady like normal, but she could see something else. Worry? Concern?_

"_What happened?" Her voice was rough, not her own._

"_I saved the day of course."_

"_You?"_

"_Who else has your back?"_

"_Thanks, Robin Hood," she muttered. She felt two arms lift her up._

"_Let's get out of here? What do you say?"_

Clint.

Where was Clint?

Hadn't he just saved her?

Wasn't she safe?

It was cold, bitter cold.

Wherever she was, it was icy and dark. A chill managed to run through her frosty bones.

Her eyes wouldn't open.

Her lungs felt like a clamp had been tightened around them, providing little expansion for air.

She thrashed, feeling as if she was drowning.

Darkness snaked around her limbs, pulling her under.

"_Natasha!"_

_The word broke through the depths, stirring her, freeing her from the dark prison._

"_Clint?"_

_She fought to breathe. Her lungs couldn't get air. Her mind screamed out for him. Where was he?_

_Her eyes flicked open. A bright light pierced her sight. Her left hand shielded her from the beam. Her eyes glanced around._

_An IV sat next to her, unused._

_Had Clint taken her to the hospital? Was she at S.H.I.E.L.D.?_

"_Natasha!"_

_Her head swung towards his voice._

_Through a window in a set of double doors, she saw him sprinting down the hallway._

"_Clint?"_

_There was fear in his eyes._

_Clint didn't show fear._

_Icy fingers gripped her stomach as it dropped._

_She saw someone behind him. No, a few people._

_Doctors?_

_Nurses?_

_They walked slowly. Why was he afraid?_

_In slow motion she saw him trip. A look of panic crossed his face as he fell from sight. She heard him hit the floor with a thud. The people behind him, they would help him up. Right?_

_Her eyes flicked to them._

_She paled._

_Those milky-moon eyes looked towards where Clint had fallen. A snarl came from one who used to be a man._

_They converged on Clint._

_His screams sent daggers straight into her soul._

"_NO!" The shriek that left her lips didn't feel like hers; it felt otherworldly._

_She bolted up, only to feel an icy grip clench grab her right wrist._

_She tugged, the grip tightened. She watched helplessly as the zombies destroyed Clint._

_The daggers ripped her very being apart as she heard his cries cease._

_A trickle of water slid down her cheek, followed by another. Her eyes widened in horror._

_Any blood left in her face drained as she saw him rise with those milky-eyes. What was left of him came towards her._

_She tugged again. Ice cold fingers held her hand._

_She finally turned and looked._

_A black suit met her sight._

_Her eyes traveled up to the white faceless head._

_Her vision blurred._

_Then all went black._

Unable to tell the difference between reality and fiction any more, she lay staring up at the paint-chipped ceiling. A fan slowly circled above. It had seen better days. Two blades were missing; the rest had perhaps been white at one time. Now they were a sickly grey. Dust lined the edges of the blades like a gathering crowd, peeking over the rim at her.

Scratchy, rough fabric lay beneath her. She wouldn't be surprised if that was also dirty, complete with bed bugs. A beaten pillow lay under her head. She hoped she wouldn't get lice.

Soft fabric, a dress if she assumed correctly, covered her skin. Would that be clean when she decided to look at it?

Cold still latched onto her bones. Natasha had a feeling it would never go away.

Despite all the issues she picked out, none of it matter anymore, anyway.

She felt empty.

Clint was gone.

She was alone.

He would never smile at her again.

She blinked once.

Twice.

And then forced herself into a sitting position.

A rickety, old wooden nightstand sat next to the bed. A lamp was placed on the top, glowing dimly.

She wiped the watery streaks from her face.

Clint was no more.

Her head dropped; her eyes closed; she took deep breaths. At least she could breathe again. Her eyes unveiled themselves. She looked at the comforter and blanched.

It was green. With a black skull and eight tentacles, surrounded by a circle.

_Hydra…_

She had worked for them once, long ago, in one of the highest ranks. It was an undercover OP that had driven a rift between Clint and her. He believed she was double-crossing everyone. She couldn't defend herself in the matter. Only Fury had known, and he had forbidden her from discussing it with anyone—including Clint.

Her eyes drifted from the—un—comforter, to a stuffed bear near the head of the bed. She immediately recognized it. It was what helped her sleep when she was a very young child. It had been thrown out though; destroyed. How was it back?

Turning from the bed she saw two doorways; one to her right and the other in front of her. If she wanted to leave the room, which one of these two doors would lead her from this place?

Her feet touched a flat, ratted carpet. Looking down, the colors were very familiar to her. The red, white and blue lines meant Russia. However, she was slightly confused as to why it wasn't the Soviet flag.

A loud rumble shook the house and the light flickered. A storm was brewing.

Rising from the bed, she looked between the two doors. With these reminders of her past, she knew staying in this room was detrimental to her. Perhaps leaving would give her a better grasp on the situation.

Right?

Straight?

After a second's hesitation, she made for the door straight ahead of her. It led into a hallway with a large window off to the left. Lightning flashed beyond the glass.

Walking down the hall, she noticed a beaten-down rug lining the wooden floor. It was grey-tan in color with red spiders and hourglasses stitched in some sort of sporadic pattern. She felt as if the rug represented her. No, that wasn't quite right. She didn't just feel; she _knew_ it did.

What sort of place was this?

A chill ran up her spine. Something was behind her. Slowly she turned. She was met with a black suit and no face.


	6. The Eyes in the Hallway

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Her eyes fluttered open. She found herself gazing at a paint-chipped ceiling. A fan slowly circled above. It had seen better days. Two blades were missing; the rest had perhaps been white at one time. Now they were a sickly grey. Dust lined the edges of the blades like a gathering crowd, peeking over the rim at her.

Wait.

This is how she had woken up the first time.

She sat up. Her eyes took in the Hydra comforter then moved to the stuffed bear next to her. Had she passed out and the 'Corrector' brought her back here?

"_Corrector? He'd be what they consider the Slenderman mythos here." _Clint's words chuckled through her head.

Her heart clenched.

Clint.

He was gone.

She rose from the bed, and was once again met with the choice of going straight, or exiting through the door to her right. The last time she went straight and the 'Corrector' had taken a hold of her.

Right it was, then.

She walked into a hallway, which held the same spider and hourglass patterned carpet as the previous path.

Her eyes turned upon the rugged, wooden chair rail. Below it held cracked, wooden paneling. Above it was peeling, tacky off-white wallpaper with what appeared to be a turtle pattern. She recognized the sea creature. It meant adaptability.

Her eyes glanced to a picture a few feet from where she stood. It held a portrait of an elderly woman. It vaguely resembled her grandmother, except her grandmother hadn't been as eerie. The eyes of the painting watched her. A shudder ran through her bones. Why was it that all pictures in an old house seemed to be hiding killers?

She walked past the eerie elder and moved to a door on the left.

It led to another gloomy, dark hallway. Slowly, she walked down the hall, feeling the boards shift from her weight. Every once in a while a creak escaped in protest of her mass.

A door on the left came upon her unexpectedly and she chose to enter. Her gaze scanned the room, taking in the odd sight.

It was a toy room. The walls were piled with all sorts of dolls, stuffed animals and games she had wished for as a child. A table, low to the ground with small, rotting, once-white chairs sat in the middle. A chipped tea set sat on top.

In a chair sat a stuffed white dog. Its front paws were strapped behind the chair, holding it hostage. Its back paws leaned against the edge of the table.

She approached the animal. It was vaguely familiar.

Her attention was brought to the face of the cub. Two long, pointed ears were held in a backward position. The lips curved down the muzzle in a frown and a rope kept its jaws from opening.

Natasha gasped.

It wasn't stuffed.

It was very much alive.

Two jade eyes flicked up to hers.

Natasha hesitated and looked around.

Could she leave this animal in here?

Her eyes caught a note lying in front of the cub.

"_Can you remember who I am? Can you save me?"_

Natasha slowly moved forward. With every step of hers, the cub tried to flatten itself against the chair.

Natasha reached out to take the rope from its muzzle. The jade eyes watched her, causing Natasha to tremble slightly. They weren't animal eyes. The jade irises that watched her were human.

Natasha closed her eyes and released a breath. In a swift motion, she tugged the rope from the cub's snout.

The cub shook its head and stretched its maw open. Small, sharp white teeth lined the pink gums. It shut its jaws and its left ear perked up slightly. The cub's brow followed suit, curious as to what Natasha would do next.

She slowly moved to the back of the chair, watching the cub's every movement. Her fingers found the knot, plastering its limbs against the wood. As she worked at untying it, she got a good look at the creature.

She realized it was less of a dog and more of a wolf, but with several major differences. Its limbs were longer and more flexible like a human. The dew-claw on the forepaws seemed as if they might be moveable as well.

Its tail wasn't bushy, but long and slim. The fur that covered the creature was soft and silky with a little extra fluff on its face.

The knots came loose. The rope dropped to the floor, curling like a snake. Natasha jumped back.

The cub moved its arms then hopped to the table lightening quick. Its tail tucked under, ears back, body low to the table.

_Why is she so frightened?_

Natasha paused. How did she know the cub was female?

After a deep breath, she stepped close to the cub again. It—she—coward against the table, then rolled onto her stomach, with her tail still between her legs.

"That's not like you," she said softly. Reaching out a hand she ran it through the soft white fur. "And where are your other colors?"

After a few moments the cub relaxed her muscles and flipped to her stomach again. Natasha scratched her gently behind the ears. Her eyes turned to the paper. A new question had replaced the other two.

"_Can you help me remember who I am?"_

Natasha's hand froze amidst the sea of fur. After a few moments, she sighed.

"I can't help with that one."

The cubs ears dropped back and it emitted a soft whine.

Natasha glanced around the room again attempting to gain an answer. For the first time since being abandoned in the forest by Stark, she felt as if she had forgotten something. Obviously, she had, but it had never become an issue until now.

She looked back at the forlorn cub which was now staring off into space; its lips curved in a downward trend.

"Perhaps we can solve that together," Natasha offered up.

The cub's eyes snapped to her. Its ears rose. Natasha reached for the cub and pulled it into her arms. Cradling it like a toddler, she smiled softly as it nuzzled against her, and turned towards the door.

"That's where our answer lies."

The cub nodded in response.

Natasha walked into the hallway, proceeding in the opposite way of which she had come. One step after another, kept her moving toward where she hoped would be the exit. An all too familiar chill ran up her spine. The cub whimpered softly. Natasha glanced back.

Tentacles were slowly snaking out of the shadows and a vague white head could be seen.

She gripped the cub tighter.

"Don't worry. We'll get out of here."

The cub looked up at her, an eye brow rose in question.

A smirk formed on the assassin's lips. "Well, if Slendy doesn't get my sweet ass first, of course."

The cub snorted and nuzzled against her.

"I'll protect you," she whispered, moving away from the tentacles. "I promise."


	7. Out of the Frying Pan

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"He was… Clint was all I ever needed in a partner. He always had my back. I hate looking for new partners. I'll just go solo again," Natasha told the cub softly; it whimpered in response. She had spent the last half an hour explaining her complicated life with Clint to a four-legged creature that probably didn't exist. _I must be losing my mind._

After thoroughly exploring what she found was the top floor, she had descended two levels into what she assumed was the basement.

The floor was cement was a heavy layer of dirt. Some walls were cement while others were molding drywall; here and there holes were spattered in the drywall, large enough to peek through. At a few points, she noticed windows—which all were on the left side—and assumed the house stood on a hill. The odd thing—and there were many—was that she couldn't find a door that led to the grass outside. Who created a basement with no escape? Did she even want that question answered?

The cub still sat snuggled in her arms, its paws wrapped gently around her neck. Natasha could feel it shaking softly as it peered into the gloom. She couldn't feel any claws, which left Natasha worried that the innocent life couldn't defend itself from whatever horrors this mansion held.

"You know, I haven't seen him for a while," Natasha said softly, glancing behind. "I bet he's on holiday."

She walked down several hallways and through many rooms—all of which looked similar. The cub peeked over her shoulder, looking for their stalker. At times it growled softly, and Natasha would turn to see an empty hallway. The stillness and quiet apparently had the cub spooked—Lord knows she was.

Around one corner she found a bust of a Czar Nicholas the Second. How ironic that a Romanov head would be in this place—although, when pieced together with everything else, it really wasn't that surprising.

The cub's head tilted sideways.

"Rumor has it I'm related to the Romanov family." She shrugged. "Some rumors remain just that."

She continued on through the labyrinth with no sighting of the _'Corrector.'_ She found it odd that he had seemed to just disappear from existence. With the holes in the walls however, she had a feeling someone was watching them.

Rounding another corner, she came upon a large grandfather clock. As she looked, she noticed that both hands pointed to midnight. She swallowed roughly as chimes resounded in her ears.

_A chicken clucked in the distance. She startled._

"_You should not be outside, Natalia, the hour is late."_

_She spun and looked up at the woman before her. White hair flowed down to her waist, her nose reminded Natalia of a long hook, her gnarled fingers clutched a walking stick. In some ways the woman reminded her of her grandmother. "How did you know my name?"_

"_I know many things about you. How would your parents feel if they caught you lurking so close to the woods?"_

_She took a step back. "Who are you?"_

"_That is not important." A clucking chicken was heard again. "There are other things that should bother you more."_

_She paled. The old woman near the forest at night, when mixed with that clucking and a staff, made for something she had been taught to fear. "You're Baba Yaga."_

_The woman smiled at her. She had trouble deciding if it was friendly or not. Hearing all the tales about the witch made her suspect the latter._

"_I bring you advice, dearest."_

"_I'm not sure I need your advice." She took several steps back. Could she sprint to the village on time?_

"_You have heard also that I am wise, have you not?"_

_She swallowed and gently nodded her head._

"_Then take heed to what I say. There are many ills that will befall you, many horrors lie in your path, yet you are strong enough to face them all. Help will arrive when you least expect and come in packages you are most surprised by. Underestimate nothing, for that will be your downfall."_

_She took another step back. "What are you talking about?"_

"_In your life you will be forced to leave the safety of your den. You will live amongst wolves, and if you live amongst wolves, you must act like a wolf."_

_She shook her head. "That doesn't—"_

_Bells sounded in the distance, signaling midnight. She glanced behind at the quiet village. Everyone was snuggled safe in their beds, as she should be. She turned back to Baba Yaga, but the woman was gone. As was the clucking…_

The memory released her from its grip. Why hadn't she realized it before? The woman in that picture wasn't her grandmother. It was Baba Yaga. She had only seen the witch that once, but she would never forget that old woman.

She had, by all appearances, pretended she didn't believe in the legends that had dominated the lore of her roots for centuries. She had told Clint they were tales and monsters to scare little children. With the experiences she had throughout her life, however, they were much more than fairytales. For so long, she had forced herself to believe certain events had never happened to her, and eventually she had honestly believed it.

Now, in the midst of memories, and blaring truths, she couldn't help but realize the world was nowhere near as controlled as she liked to keep it. In the face of facts, she was being hunted by the _'Corrector.'_

She took a few steadying breaths. She couldn't let this revelation over power her. She could not lose every last bit of sanity. She had to get out of here. The cub was depending on her. The cub…

She looked down at the creature in her arms. She always thought Baby Yaga had meant the wolves comment in a metaphorical sense, but with the little wolf in her arms, had the old woman being hinting at more?

Everything here seemed to represent things in her life: the bear, the comforter, even the carpet. So what did the cub represent? What was its meaning in the entire plot? She shook her head. This had to be something she contemplated as she kept moving.

Natasha continued on, now reaching the beginning stages of desperation in an attempt to get out. This place was taking a toll on her mentality. She could feel the seams unstitching as her calm demeanor slowly crumbled.

Turning another corner, she froze; breath lodged in her throat.

He was there.

By the window.

Forcing herself to take a shaky breath, she turned and bolted in the other direction.

After running through a few corridors, she paused and caught her breath.

The cub trembled.

"Shhh," Natasha said softly. "It's alright. H-He's chilling in the hallway, looking out the window. M-Maybe he's dreaming of the life he'd never had; l-life as a farmer." She paused and her eyebrow lifted. "Farming children…"

The cub snorted and whimpered.

"We're going… We're going to be okay." Natasha peeked behind her.

He was there, watching her. Those long black tendrils dancing in the dark.

She faced forward and found herself unable to move. After another breath, she turned.

He was further back.

"Why would you teleport backwards?"

The cub in her arms nudged her.

"Right. Doesn't matter," said Natasha. She sprinted forward, eluding the treacherous being. She couldn't help, but glance back again. Nothing was there. Heaving a sigh of relief, she slowed as she moved forward.

Continuing on, she navigated another part of the basement. Peering in one room she found a bathroom. A porcelain tub—which looked more like a small boat—sat in one corner.

"What the hell is that?" Her gaze swept the rest of the chipped-tile room.

A sink stood on the wall closest to her, the mirror long lost to whatever horrors this place had seen. Another door sat in the back on the right. Next to the door was a toilet. On the back of the toilet sat a box. She approached it.

"A hundred percent more suds?" Natasha raised an eye brow at this. "Well, of course you've got to have a hundred percent. Nothing but the best."

The cub snorted.

"Find that funny, did you?"

The cub seemed to purr in response. Maybe it wasn't exactly a wolf.

With a soft smile, she exited through the door on the right and continued on her way. At least the mood was beginning to lighten again. Perhaps, if she could find the exit quickly, the atmosphere could maintain the upbeat feeling they had going.

Wandering down another hallway, she felt a chill on her neck. Nope, the ambiance dropped once again. As long as she was in this hellhole, they would never have a moment's peace. She glanced behind her. Nothing was there.

Turning another corner, she heard the cub growl softly. Glancing back, she saw tentacles and a white face at the end of the hallway. Unable to turn around, her mind raced blindly and she said the first thing that settled for more than a second.

"What are you doing here?"

The cub nudged her again.

Natasha glanced at the cub. "Not the best question, I know." She looked back. He was gone.

She froze. Where had he disappeared too?

"Fuck that shit." Natasha turned and sprinted.

The _'Corrector'_ was messing with her mind. It was much like a spider. He had weaved his web, lured in his prey, and was now taunting it. She was sure that he was slowly trying to wrap her into a nice cocoon of web. Perhaps he would suck out her insides… No, she wouldn't let him.

"We have to get out!"

She couldn't die like this.

She continued through the maze, panting as she ran, only to find another set of stairs. These looked promising. Sprinting, she ascended, the cub clutched deathly-firm in her arms.

Natasha heard a whimper from the cub as she flew into a room. Pausing momentarily to gain her bearings, she noticed a piano on her left side and a table with wine, plates and papers on the left.

"What? Is this some sort of date? He wants my sweet ass in a bed upstairs?" She glanced behind. He wasn't there. She looked at the papers on the table. They were all Newspaper articles, which she had a feeling wasn't going to be good. She swallowed roughly and read the titles.

'_Hospital Fire Leaves Hundreds Dead.'_

"Oh God…"

'_Man Critically Wounded by KGB Fights for Life.'_

"Clint…"

'_Can Widow Hide Forever?'_

"What?" That was odd. Hide from what? Her eyes turned to the next.

'_I see you.'_

Natasha stepped back, a gasp slipping through her lips. These were all about her. Things she had done, or been a part of…

A loud growl shook her from her thoughts. She glanced back. The tentacles were reaching for her. _He_ saw her!

Natasha took off in a sprint.

The cub looked back and let out a snarl-yelp. Natasha felt a tentacle wrap around her ankle, and she fell to the floor. The cub rolled out of her arms and slammed into a wall.

"Run!" Natasha shouted. Her nails clawed at the wood as she tried to pull herself away.

The cub shakily stood; ears back, tail tucked between her legs.

"Run!" Natasha repeated, her hand attempting to shoo away the white ball of fluff.

The cub turned to leave then halted. Its green eyes wide with concern as it jaws were partly open. In seconds, the cub dashed behind her and Natasha felt the tentacle loosen then give way. Natasha leapt to her feet, almost tripping again as the cub rushed past. She followed.

After several steps, she overtook the cub. Pausing, she reached down and grabbed the white creature, before continuing on.

Ahead of her was a large room with an enormous statue. It was gold in color and of a woman pointing towards a set of doors. Natasha's heart leapt in her chest. Those double doors surely meant the exit.

With renewed hope, Natasha picked up her pace, cub securely in her arms. She could feel the _'Corrector' _ behind her, attempting to gain. She had ten feet until she reached the door.

Nine.

Eight.

She was going to make it.

Six.

The door was almost within reach. Freedom was hers.

Three.

Just another step.

One.

Her fingers grasped the handle, turned and pulled.

_~Seven Versts~_

Natasha bolted upright.

She desperately tried to pull in air.

She felt like she was suffocating.

Her mind flew over what had just happened. She had been in a forest hunted by something she identified as the _'Corrector.'_ There had been a zombie or two that had made its presence known in that place. From there, she floated through nightmare after nightmare not knowing what was real and what was in her mind.

Right now, she assumed she was in the present. She could feel the fabric of her leather outfit. It no longer fit her snuggly. Her mind automatically ran through questions. Was she hurt? How long had she been here; vulnerable? Where was she now?

Her eyes quickly assessed the situation before her, tackling what she deemed the easiest question. She lay on a trampled, bloody gurney in a dimly lit room. Silence was her only companion.

She moved to swing her legs off the disgusting thing. A rattling was heard and her ankles tugged against something. Looking down, she noticed shackles bound her legs. She reached to pull them off. Her right wrist caught; a cuff held it captive.

She looked at her left wrist. At least that was free of metal.

An object moved just outside the door, in an instant Natasha drew her left pistol and pulled the hammer back with a protective _click_.

As Natasha took in the sight before her, she hesitated.

Two blue-grey eyes looked up at her from the dark doorway. Natasha didn't move, nor did the eyes.

Slowly, they entered her dimly lit room, allowing her a better look.

A grey snout trembled; a black nose twitched. Two pointed ears stood on alert. The hair at the tip of the ears split into two.

Natasha lost sight of it as it approached the gurney. A sharp breath raced through her lips as the creature softly landed on the end of gurney. Her gun moved for a shot right between the eyes.

While it stood under three feet in height, its large paws stated it was still quite young. Long legs attached the paws to the body—Natasha would bet it could run. Its tail was slim. As she looked at it again, she realized it was a similar to a wolf cub—_the same wolf cub from… whatever just happened to me?_ She shook her head. This one was grey.

Natasha gazed at the eyes. She seemed to know them. She shuddered, realizing they were just like the white cub; they were human-like.

The cub glanced at her and then moved to the cuff claiming her right ankle. A claw slid out of one of the toes. Retractable claws? On a wolf?

The claw slipped into the keyhole. The cub worked quietly, claw twisting, as its ears twitched. It was listening for a snap.

With a satisfied click, the wolf moved to the left ankle.

The smell of death filled the air. Natasha tried to breathe as little as possible. Was the wolf dead? No, it was very much alive—she could feel its warmth in the cold room. To be on the safe side, she never moved her gun from the creature's head.

In flash, the cub was sliding off the gurney. A cry—almost human-like—came from its mouth, as claws came from its forepaws. They dug into the gurney ripping the decaying fabric.

Natasha looked up to see a zombie dragging the cub off. Shifting her gun, she aimed between the eyes and fired.

A sickening crunch filled the air as blood rained across the back of the room. Natasha almost vomited. The cub climbed back onto the gurney with wide, terrified eyes and faced the door. Its tail tucked between its legs as it lowered itself in hopes to remain unseen.

A wail filled the hallway.

Natasha paled. This was the day that never ended.

The cub shivered.

Natasha shook the cub. "Finish!" she snapped. "I've got the door covered!"

The wolf looked up at her and nodded. With ears back it worked on the cuff at her ankle again. Natasha winced as claws cut into her skin. The soft jingle of the chains whispered of how frightened the cub was.

With another click, her ankle was free.

Milky eyes appeared in the darkness at the door. Natasha swallowed and fired.

A howl was heard in the distance.

"What the hell is going on here?"

The cub tensed at her arm as its claws scrapped against the metal. A growl rumbled in the darkness. Natasha searched for the source. A gasp lodged in her throat as a grey hound—or what was left of one—leapt at her.

Natasha's head hit what was left of the padding on the gurney. The dead creature sailed over her head.


	8. Into the Unknown

**Forgive me for the long absence. Long story short, see my profile for details.**

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**And now... I've caught up and we're back.  
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Her breath rushed out as she heard the click of freedom. She flipped, head over heels, and brought her gun up to the dead greyhound's head. A shot fired in response.

She watched it collapse to the ground; the majority of its head now gone.

She spun to the wolf cub, shifting from foot to foot as she stretched her muscles.

"What the fuck is going on?"

It shook its head; ears twitched back, listening for the next attack. Well, if it wasn't going to give her any answers, she wasn't going to wait around and find out.

She walked past the gurney and looked down at the cub. "You walking or hitch-hiking?"

A brow rose as the cub paused for a moment then hopped onto Natasha shoulders, sitting like a little child.

Natasha left the room, creeping into the hallway. Dim lights ocassionally flickered on and off. A howl echoed from somewhere beyond. It didn't sound close enough to fear at the moment.

She ran her thumb up and down the steel in her hand. Her fingers flexed tighter on the handle; her index finger prepared to pull the trigger at a moment's notice. With her heart still pounding in her chest, she took deep breaths. The steel would protect her. Everything was going to be okay.

She had to get the cub on her shoulders thinking the same thing. The slight shiver running through its body was not going to help the situation. The cub was an asset to her. Natasha knew its senses far exceeded her own. If the cub was scared though, it would freeze when she needed it most.

"Okay," Natasha said softly, her eyes peering into the darkness around her. "Here's how it's going to be played. You need to be alert. You can hear better than I can. Your sense of smell is better, and you can most likely see better. I need you to be my back up."

She felt the cub's stomach expand in a large breath of air as if it was contemplating what to do. She then felt it nod and the shivers subsided.

The silence that lapsed between them put Natasha on edge. After everything she had just gone through, it was too quiet for her liking. She holstered her gun then pulled the cub from her shoulders. The wolf was larger than the white one in her dreams, but still fit comfortably in her arms.

"Do you know what this place is?" she asked softly.

The cub opened its mouth as if trying to say something. A few quiet growls came out. Its ears then lowered and it sighed.

"Have you been able, at any time, to speak?"

The cub nodded in response.

"Have you had odd things happen to you, too?"

Natasha continued through the maze of corridors, wondering if the cub would answer. It looked up at her as if thinking through something. Finally, it nodded.

She ran her fingers through its soft fur. "I wonder what a little wolf cub like you did to end up here."

The cub's ears dropped momentarily as it looked around the place. It then sighed and looked back up at her with a questioning look. The cub was asking for her story. It was eerie how intelligent the creature was.

Natasha shook her head slowly in response. "I was doing my assignment like Fury wanted. It involved just sitting down and having a conversation with Stark. I didn't know he would mind."

_~SV~_

Natasha traversed several flights of stairs and had lost track of the number of corridors she had crept through; the flickering lights had long since died. The darkness was beginning to overwhelm her; as if the gloom was swirling around her, bringing her to the depths of hell. If she allowed it to take her over, their chances of survival dropped to none.

"In order to get out of here we have to remain strong," she whispered.

She felt the cub give a nod in response.

The next corridor they came upon looked like all the others—rubble filled, lined with doors and no end in sight. She peeked into one doorway, and stifled a gasp. Cribs lined a blood spattered room.

She felt a shiver from the wolf, as the cub left her shoulders and landed softly on the floor. It surprised Natasha how agile it was. She watched as the cub sniffed around the room, finally reaching a crib. It rose onto its hind legs and peeked in.

Natasha took a deep breath and searched the room—her eyes scanning the walls subconsciously for notes. She then glanced into a few cribs, checking for supplies—and remains. Whatever had been kept in here was long gone by now. While she attempted to be hopeful for the apparent infants, the blood on the walls screamed at the thought of horror.

Cold fingers ran down her spin and she startled. She spun on toe, looking from left to right.

Natasha was alone in the room—_the cub must have moved on_. The silence enhanced the cold now overwhelming the room. Something about the place wasn't right. She picked her way back toward the door and peeked into the hallway.

In the lack of light, she only saw about ten feet ahead of her. It wasn't the best of circumstances—anything could be in the shadows—but it also wasn't the worst.

"Cub?" she whispered. "Wolf cub?"

After a few moments, she realized the cub was gone. Icicles of fear immediately dove into her heart. Had something gotten the cub? Had the cub taken off? Was it investigating more of the area? She shook her head. No matter the reason, she had to continue on—and hope she would find the small cub.

She maneuvered into the hallway, careful to keep against the walls on the right side. In her mind, they were the safe bases that a child used in tag and nothing could harm her. She came to a four way intersection and paused. The stillness to her right left an uneasy feeling in the air. Something about continuing ahead seemed off. When considering the hallway on her left, she felt good; a peace nestled itself momentarily into her mind. The only issue was crossing into the open.

She felt her mind want to lurch forward—to cross the open space to more safety—but lead seemed to circulate through her veins. She took a deep breath. She _had_ to move.

As she braced herself to lunge again, she momentarily wondered if she would be so afraid had Clint been there. He always had her back, even in the worst of situations. If he was there, he would have her back now. She wouldn't need to feel afraid.

Natasha leapt across the darkness. For a split second, she wondered if something would dash down the hall and snatch her. She rolled upon impact and found the safety of the wall again. A breath left her lungs. She allowed a momentary shudder to roll through her body. She then straightened up and continued down the hallway.

Natasha had taken four steps when a sharp bark echoed from the corridor she had come from. She paused momentarily, wondering if it would be safe to call for the cub.

"Wolf cub?"

Natasha felt her chest clench. Another voice called to the cub, and it sounded oddly familiar. She made her way back to the intersection. She quickly moved to the left wall and peeked around the corner. A large beast she didn't recognize stood in front of the room with the cribs. A person stood in front of the door. She paled.

A doppelganger of herself stood staring at the beast.


	9. Fear Around Every Corner

**I know I disappeared, and I'm _so_ sorry. ****Feel free to hate me.** Busy life really sucks sometimes!

**For everyone that's stuck with me, I love you more than words can say! Thanks so much!**

**It is summer break for me so this story should be done really soon providing that life doesn't get in the way.**

**Hope you enjoy. Remember to review! If you catch any errors let me know, this isn't beta'd.**

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Natasha held her hands over her mouth as a large grey beast snarled at her apparent twin. Her chest clenched as the creature slammed the other her into the door frame with its large clawed hand. Her hand moved to her throat as the creature's razor sharp teeth severed the twin's throat.

Ice filled her veins as the creature turned its eyes on something down the hall. Natasha squinted, attempting to make out what it now sauntered toward. _Please don't be the cub._

She shoved her fist in her mouth as she saw a human dash out of the shadows—his red eyes focused on the twitching body. In the blink of an eye, the creature leapt at the human. A terrifying growl left its lips. The two beings rolled down the hallway, snarling, and disappearing into the darkness.

Stifling a gasp, she gazed down the hallway in a hypnotic state. What had just gone down? What was going on? Was the cub dead?

One heart beat.

Two.

A small gray figure slinked from the shadows. Relief flooded her veins. The cub was alive.

She watched as it moved toward the twitching body of her doppelganger—she could faintly hear the death rattle coming from its lungs over the snarls in the darkness.

The cub nudged against the doppelganger's thigh. Natasha watched as the cub's ears went backward. In the next second, it backed up—tail between its legs—and the twin's skin turned blue. Natasha clamped a hand over her mouth.

For the last several years, Fury had been scouring the globe in search of a person who was able to change shape. Her original form consisted of blue skin, and she was apparently what was termed a mutant. For some reason the shape-shifer—whose name Natasha had heard as Raven—was a top security matter. She had heard whispers that Raven was wanted in connection with a missing senator who disappeared around right years ago. _What else is kept in this hell-hole?_

She shook her head and took a deep breath. Now was not the time to get sidetracked.

Seeing that the cub was frozen, Natasha whistled softly between her teeth. The cub's ears twitched as it came alive and started down the hallway. Its blue-grey eyes searched the darkness. Natasha thought about calling out, but the snarls in the distance were softening to growls. She swallowed roughly as she realized the fight was ending.

Whistling softly again, she watched as the cub began to tot toward her. As it turned the corner she hid by she lowered the whistle and snatched the cub up by the scruff of the neck.

Wrapping the cub tightly in her arms, Natasha sprinted down the hallway and away from creatures veiled in darkness. Her breath echoed in her own ears, as she felt her heart attempting to escape her chest. _How did I end up in this mess?_

At some point, she found a stairwell and bolted up it—two steps at a time. When she reached the top, she tossed the cub to the ground and turned back to the double doors. One creaked closed followed by the other. She searched the metal handles for a lock and then checked the door. A shiver ran through her spine as she looked to the cub.

"Find me something to bar them with!"

The cub watched her with wide eyes. It seemed to be shocked she was alive. Natasha opened her mouth to criticize the cub for standing there when it turned and began searching the area.

She attempted to take deep breaths as she waited. Instead of her heart settling down, it slammed against her rib cage. She was certain it would be bruised by the end of this.

The next thing she realized, the cub was at her feet with a metal pole. She took it from the cub and wedged it into the door handles—efficiently locking them for now.

As the first bits of silence radiated through the area, Natasha leaned against the door before collapsing to the ground—breath heaving in and out of her lungs. Her fingers thread into her long, snarled hair as her heart continued to race. How had she gotten here? What had happened? What had she done to deserve this? _That last question actually has a long list of possibilities._

Her eyes closed as she breathed out. Where was Clint? Was he dead? He had to be. He would have found her by now. Nothing _ever_ hindered him from finding her. She cringed again as she realized how much she now depended on him.

However, if she returned home, who would be her new partner? Who could she trust? There was no one on payroll that she wanted to work with—nor that she believed would have her back. _That's what happens when you're born Russian._

Natasha startled as she felt a tug on her pant leg along with a growl. _Zombie?_

She looked to see the cub staring at her. It tugged at her pants again indicating it wanted her to follow. _Does it have a plan?_ For several moments she didn't move. Finally, she took a large breath and rose. If she was going to get out, she had to _keep moving_.

"Alright, where too?"

The cub turned and led her through the new territory. Her feet—as well as the cub's—kicked up little wisps of dust. She crossed her arms. Despite the determination the cub displayed, it looked frayed and worn down. Natasha had already seen Hell on Earth but she was positive the cub had seen worse. Her head bowed as she sighed.

Who knew how long she was going to be in here? Who knew if she was going to get out? And if she did get out, she didn't know how she was going to lay Clint to rest.


	10. Stairway to Freedo--

**Hello lovelies. Thanks to those who have reviewed! I've been super busy! Hope this goes well!**

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"_We need to find a map."_

Half an hour after saying that, Natasha still trudged through the silent facility—though her tired footsteps didn't make a sound. The cub led the way—ears twitching at apparent phantom noises. Natasha was partly relieved when the cub entered a room off to the left. Pausing at the door, she looked in.

Two chairs sat at an enormous control panel while black screens lined the walls. Rubble from the ceiling littered the panel and floor. Natasha took a step in—eyes drawn to where the cub had hopped onto the desk and stood with its paw on the wall. She glanced to the wall—slightly taken back when she saw a map there.

She approached as the fingers of her left hand grasped her flashlight. Pulling it out, she clicked it on—a soft sigh leaving her lips—and lifted it toward the map. Natasha was vaguely aware that the cub hopped off the panel and moved toward the door.

_So we're here…_ She pointed to a gold star. _…which means there's one floor between us and freedom._ Her finger traced a path to the exit.

Natasha sighed. That was better than where she thought they were. She feared they were still in the depths of Hell. _Who knows how large this place is?_ She cast a glance toward the cub. _Well, she probably does._

"Okay," she said softly, moving from the room—flashlight flicking across the darkened hall. "Let's go. I have an idea of where the exit is."

She heard the cub snort, and a few moments later it resumed its lead. _Has she known where to go all along?_

Keeping her flashlight trained on the cub before her, Natasha followed in silence—allowing her brain to wander. _Where's Fury? Is he searching for me? He's been known to neglect agents before. Does he know Barton's dead?_ She swallowed roughly. Her partner, the only one she trusted… Dead.

Cold finger tips ran up her spine causing her to pause. The sensation of being watched consumed her in the dark. Her eyes widened. _No…_

Natasha vaguely heard the cub growl as she swallowed roughly. _Not here. Please… I thought it was over._

"He's here," she said quietly and clicked off her flashlight.

It was then that a soft scurrying came from the hallway behind them. Natasha reached for her gun as the cub issued a warning growl. Peering through the darkness, she paled as a short figure with a pale white mask rushed at them—its eyes and mouth ringed in black. Her gun rose. She caught a glint from its gloved hand in the darkness—_knife!_

She pulled the trigger.

A breath left her lungs as the figure collapsed to the ground. _I didn't know the 'Corrector' had friends._ A shiver ran through her bones as she turned to the cub.

"We have to get—"

A wail rose from the depths. _Please don't be Clint._ She looked at the cub. "We have to get out. Now!"

The cub turned and trotted out. Natasha followed closely behind.

It wasn't long before she lost track of how long they navigated the decrepit hallways. The scenery remained the same—rubble strewn across the floor, doors falling off hinges, parts of the ceiling missing. All she knew was when they reached the staircase, the surroundings change and relief spread through her veins. _One step closer to freedom._

As she entered the room at the top of the steps, she pulled out her pistol and scanned the perimeter. The top floor had once been modeled after an office building. Crumbling cubicles lined the aisles, as well as parts of the ceiling and glass. Her glance lowered to the ugly linoleum floor. _Ugh…_

The middle of the room caught her attention next. The ceiling had caved in, revealing the dark night sky. With a few carefully placed feet and hands she could climb out. _Freedom's close._

Her grip tightened on the pistol as the smell of decaying flesh hit her, causing her stomach to curdle. The silence that enveloped them seemed to cover unknown horrors. She wouldn't be surprised if the dead were found in this room.

Natasha noticed the cub move to a cubicle and flatten itself against the side. She followed suit and cocked her gun. Hearing claws scratch against the floor behind her, she turned towards the stairs. She paled as two milky eyes appeared from the steps; her gun aimed for it. The eyes immediately settled on her and the dead greyhound rushed at her, snarling. She pulled the trigger and it collapsed to the ground.

Moments later another howl came from the stairs. She watched two more greyhounds leap from the stairwell depths and rush toward her. Standing, she aimed, and a soft breath left her lips. She fired once, then twice—both falling to the ground beside the first.

A soft smile crossed her face as the stairwell remained empty. _That's better. _Natasha startled as a hand wrapped itself around her ankle. She collapsed to the ground with a shriek and her gun skid away from her. Another hand placed itself farther up her leg. Her eyes widened as they settled upon a dark skinned zombie. _That's another missing person! Luke Cage._

The dead man moved to bite her. She kicked him in the face.

Once.

Twice.

_Oh my God!_

In the next instant, the cub had lunged forward onto the zombie—its claws meeting the dead man's face.

Natasha scrambled backwards, trying to both find her gun and watch as the cub slammed its paw on the zombie's head. She paled as the dead got a grip on a paw, causing the cub to snarl and snap its jaws around his wrist. In moments, the zombie's hand had been severed clean.

It was then her hand came across cold steel. Glancing down, she saw her gun. With a soft whimper, Natasha snatched it. A surprised yelp grabbed her attention.

An arm now lay on the ground next to the frightened cub. Natasha gasped as a leg landed in front of the grey cub. A silent scream past her lips as a head fell to the ground. _What the hell?!_

The cub then shrieked as the zombie sank its teeth into her left paw.

"No!" Natasha screamed as she pulled up the gun and fired.


	11. Nowhere to Hide

**We're almost out of the woods. Soon... Sooooon...**

**As a side note to those of you who have read Theories. Things may not seem like they line up directly, but remember the cub's thought and emotions were everywhere along with an adrenaline rush. Thus the cub didn't catch as much. Natasha's freaked out but less so.**

**Thank you to the people who continue to review! You make my day! And I love you all: reader and reviewer!**

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Natasha breathed out softly as the zombie collapsed—half his head missing. She swallowed roughly as she holstered her gun. The cub before her seemed frozen in a panic as its eyes focused on the bite. Natasha hesitated. If the cub turned, it would attack her. If she left the cub though, it would face a more gruesome ending.

She bit her lip as a scratching brought her attention to vents above her.

_Something's in there…_

For a moment, she hoped Clint would drop down—alive and well. He'd smile and tell her everything would be okay. In reality, however, whatever was up there probably wasn't friendly—Clint or not.

In the next moment, Natasha picked up the cub. Its heart pounded frantically against its ribs—_probably nearing shock._ That's when she caught her own breath—short and panicked. _It's not the only one nearing shock._

Turning, Natasha sprinted for the broken ceiling as a growl echoed behind her. After a soft, dull thud sound, a soft scratching echoed across the floor. Whatever was in the vents was now making itself known. And apparently on the hunt.

Natasha had been in predicaments similar to this before. It wasn't the first time she'd been chased, or the first time she'd had to help a wounded comrade to safety. With how this place had been, however, she worried about making it out, and that's when she broke one of her top five rules. She looked back.

Behind her was a creature her mind had trouble grasping. She made out that it was large and grey. It moved swiftly—muscles flowing to propel it forward. From what she could make out in the dark, its build was similar to a greyhound's—long and limber with a deep chest. Three rows of spikes seemed to line its back and cascade down its tail.

Despite all this, the thing that iced truly her veins was its glowing red eyes seeming as if the creature had just been thrown out of hell itself.

A gasp left her mouth as she weaved in and out of cubicles in her mad dash toward the ceiling. Her legs burned as her lungs fought for air. Pants escaped her lips. When a zombie appeared before her, she fumbled to hold the cub in one arm as her right hand reached for her gun. She fired once, then twice as another appeared. With the way clear, she bolted up to the crest of the rubble.

"I need you to focus!" she snapped at the cub causing it took look at her.

In her mind, the plan seemed hopeless. There was no way the cub could pull itself up there and then pull her up. However, the cub had surprised her on several occasions—especially when it came to unlocking the cuffs. She was willing to bet the cub had a few more tricks.

Natasha held the cub up to the edge. "Reach for it!"

With the sound of the creature's claws coming up behind her, she watched as the cub's claws dug into the cement and then pulled itself up onto the roof. In any other situation, Natasha would have paused to gawk at this phenomenon. However, a growl made her spin on point and grab her gun.

She barely heard the click of the hammer as the creature lunged, before a shot rang through the air.

Instantly, the creature collapsed to the floor—bullet nuzzled into its skull between the eyes. It twitched once before remaining still. Natasha breathed a sigh of relief as she holstered the gun. _Now to get out of this hell hole._

She looked up at the cub, who watched wide-eyed and trembling. "We're okay… for the moment."

The cub nodded briefly before sinking its claws into the cement again and reaching down with its good front paw. Natasha took hold and used the cub as leverage to climb out. Without stopping, she picked the slightly dazed cub up and jogged to the edge of the roof. Soft pants, left her lips as she scanned the perimeter. A set of stairs reaching the ground sat off to her left.

Jogging over, she felt the chilly night air scratch at her skin. It was then she realized her outfit was torn and tattered in several areas—_figures._ In hindsight, it was the worst of what could be wrong with her. She trotted down the steps and away from the large grey structure built into the side of a mountain.

A forest lay before her causing a shudder to run through her bones. _Not another one._ With a shake of her head, she plunged into the trees hoping the exit lie in front of her. As she breathed in the fresh forest air, her mind began to clear of the gloom behind her.

Clint couldn't really be dead. It wasn't possible that she had actually seen that. _He has to be alive._ She also resolved that Fury had to be looking for her. She was one of his best agents; he wouldn't just let her go. _Even if he tried, Clint would see to it that she was found._

With those thoughts, she realized that she really didn't have a clue who the "zombie" people were. _Who's to say they were even zombies?_ The man she thought she knew, while he seemed familiar, had to be someone else entirely. He wouldn't have been a missing fugitive.

It was then the still of the forest began to set in and cause a new fear to creep in. Were there things hiding in the forest as well?

Natasha shook her head as before her brow rose. Perhaps the cub knew the man. True, it might not be able to talk, but maybe with a look it could tell her things. _No reason not to try…_ "That zombie who bit you… He seemed familiar. Like I knew him. I just keep seeing his face in my mind and thinking that I should remember him."

Instead of giving her an answer, the cub revealed the bite. Panic flooded its blue-grey eyes. _It's scared…_

"I don't believe that mumbo jumbo about a bite turning you into a zombie," Natasha commented. "Don't let that get to your head. There's been a lot of shit we've seen, but that bite isn't going to turn you. And we have to be close to civilization now, or I hope. We'll find S.H.I.E.L.D. and get you the medical attention you need."

Warmth spread across Natasha as the cub nuzzled against her. Clutching the cub tighter, she moved further into the trees. They seemed less harmless now; less intimidating. That was until she came across a sheet of white paper on a tree stating: **NOWHERE TO HIDE.**

"Shit," she growled and halted. Her eyes ran over the oval drawn on the picture with two 'X's where the eyes should be. "That bastard is back."

Gripping the cub—like a child clings to a stuff animal—she scanned the area as she proceeded forward. As she ventured into the darkness, random mumblings of "not again" and "this can't be happening" left her lips. How was it she had escaped that place to end up back where she started?

_I swear, if this is some sick joke I'm going to kill everyone involved—even if that means Clint._

With the moon directly above, Natasha stumbled upon a small elevated cave in the mountainside. She picked her way up and looked around the dark crevice, before settling against the back of it. She vaguely noticed the cub moved toward the edge to look out as she pulled her guns from their holster.

The one on her left hip was completely empty of ammo—a thought that made her heart drop. The one on her right held slightly more hope.

"One shot left…"

Natasha sighed as she replaced both pistols. Exhaustion began to claw at her before her chin lulled against her chest and her eyes closed.


End file.
